


The Way It Hurts

by IMtrinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMtrinity/pseuds/IMtrinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is dying and there's nothing Dean can do to prevent it, unless he swallows his pride and...prays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains SPOILERS up to and including Season 10 x 9 (mid season finale). However, after that it does become AU.

“What do you mean, _inoperable_?”

Dean glares at the doctor, the words still ringing loudly in his ears. His fingers clench the steel arms of the chair as he leans forward, lip curling against the hollow proclamation.

The doctor sighs, clearly anticipating the reaction. He removes his glasses, setting them down on his desk like he’s done hundreds of times. His eyes shift from Dean to the other man sitting silently in the next chair over.

“We’ve done multiple MRI, CT scans, and they all show the same thing. The tumor isn’t terribly large, but there’s just no way to reach it. At this time, I recommend aggressive radiation treatment and see if there is any change afterwards.

“And if not?”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you better news.”

Dean is out of his chair. “My brother is thirty six years old! He can’t have inoperable brain cancer. There’s gotta be something else.”

“Dean.”

His head snaps to Sam giving him that damned, silent pleading look he loathes so fucking much. But the fight has left him. He turns back to the doctor, towering over him. “I’m not accepting this. Fucking find another way.”

He storms out without a glance back.

***

He leans against the Impala, stuffing his freezing hands inside his coat. His breath leaves wisps of ragged air floating around him. His head is pounding and all he wants to do is just get in the fucking car and drive. Just drive. Away from the frigid cold of Washington, away from the best fucking specialists in America. Just away.

He looks up as Sam approaches.

“Well that could have gone better.”

“Not funny, Sam.” He throws his door open, sliding inside. It takes another minute or so before Sam gets in, shutting the door quietly. Dean stares straight ahead, mind a whirlwind of turmoil. The heavy silence hangs in the air, precarious and excruciating.

“Dean.”

“Don’t, Sam.”

“ _Dean,_ would you just quit it and listen to me? Please.”

He clenches his jaw, fighting a losing battle. He swallows roughly, and finally turns his head.

Sam searches his eyes, pain flickering in the amber depths, mouth working around what he wants to say, hoping for a few moments of peace before Dean overreacts again.

“I know it’s not what we wanted to hear. I get that. I’m shocked too. I’m-- knowing that--” he turns away, heart pumping rabidly behind his ribcage. He clenches his fist, ignoring the tremor that runs through and up his arms. Dean stays blissfully silent. He takes a breath.

“It is what it is. And if we go for another opinion, they’d tell me the same thing. You saw the scans, Dean. And even with chemo, or radiation or whatever groundbreaking, experimental treatment they hit me with, it’s only a matter of time. So can we please not do this right now?”

Dean licks his bottom lip, teeth scraping the underside as he glares at Sam, eyes fierce and bright. He twists his body so he is fully facing his brother, hand up, finger prodding the air in front of Sam’s chest.

“You listen to me, Sammy. You haven’t lived this fucking long, hell _survived_ this long, only to succumb to whatever the fuck this is. You fought demons and witches, hell you fucking fought and beat the devil himself and everything he threw at us. You lost your soul and got it back and you made it to today in-fucking-tact. There’s no fucking way in hell I’m losing you over brain cancer of all things.”

He faces forward, hands gripping the steering wheel. “It’s not happening, Sammy.” He swallows down the lump quickly forming and turns the ignition, fingers jabbing at the stereo volume, before screeching out of the parking lot.

Sam doesn’t say another word.

***

Since their stay in the north west turned out to be extended, they quickly realized throwing money at some skanky motel wouldn’t get them very far. So they rented a furnished, one bed condo a few miles from the freeway.

Sam took the bedroom, as he slept often and deeply, tiring more in the last couple of months. Dean hardly ever slept so he was fine with the couch and all the lumpiness it had to offer. There he currently sits, mindlessly watching the tv while Sam showers.

The place is cold, but he can’t move to turn up the heat. Hell, he hasn’t moved in hours, or maybe days. The environment between them is strained and Dean barely has the energy to bring anything up. For his part, Sam goes about his day, eating, checking emails, browsing the news for anything supernatural related. He goes for runs daily, reads a stupid amount of books, and hardly drinks anything but water.

Dean watches him from afar. Dean watches as it takes Sam longer to get out of bed in the morning. He sees as he goes straight for the medicine cabinet after every run, hand absentmindedly running across his forehead. He notices the spaced-out look Sam would get as he sits in front of his laptop before coming to, slamming the lid shut and heading for his bedroom.

When Sam sleeps, Dean does some research of his own on his laptop. He scours the net for anything, _anything_ he can find that might help Sam. He goes through hundreds of websites and testimonials and analysis, until the words blur together and his own head starts pounding.

Frustrated and drained he leaves the stifling quiet of the little condo and gets in his beloved car and drives. For him there is nothing more liberating and calming than getting in his Baby and cruising the empty roads for miles and miles. After everything he has been through, at least he has her.

Sometimes he would blast his music, letting it overrun his own thoughts and even the sound of the rumbling engine. But other times he doesn’t even bother to turn it on. Eyes on the dark road and mind far away he would settle in for a few hours and simply tries to enjoy the drive. He misses driving across country.

For years it was all he ever did and now that they are anchored to one location he feels stifled, and the only way to cure that is to drive. He’d drive for hours and eventually hit the Pacific and he’d find a spot and stare at the black, choppy waters, hurting and reminiscing and eventually the tears would fall and get blasted away by the frigid winds until more than his fingertips turned numb and he’d return to the Impala and drive all the way back home. To Sammy.

***

Sam starts radiation. Doesn’t tell Dean, just leaves the house one day and comes home hours later, slightly drained and pale. For three days a week for two weeks he asks to borrow the car and Dean just nods towards the keys, and that is that.

Dean is oblivious for a while. He thinks Sam is just more tired. He sleeps longer and doesn’t eat as much in the beginning, but then he seems to snap out of it. Then the statements from the doctor’s office come in.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A shrug. “There’s no guarantee of anything. In fact, they pretty much told me not to get my hopes up. But there’s still the chance it might do something. I’d have thought you’d be pleased.”

Dean feels ill. Sam is doing this for _him_. He is doing this because he knows what it is doing to his brother. That while Sam is the one dying, Dean is the one tortured and pained. He looks at his baby brother and can’t speak. Sees the fatigue in his face, the lines and creases around his eyes. He thinks of what the radiation is doing to him. Weakening him, his appetite all but gone. Will his long hair fall out too?

What can he say? Tell him to stop? What kind of brother would do that? Tell him to quit his cancer treatment for vanity's sake? Tell him it's useless, pointless? He swallows and says none of that.

“I’m coming with you next time.”

***

Spring dawns cool and rainy but it brings an end to the treatments. Dean is practically a zombie. He can hardly sleep more than a couple hours each night-- or not at all, and he loses interest in the world around him. It is just Sam Sam Sam.

Sam tells him to stay home while he goes to see the doctor about the results. Dean nearly blows up but essentially Sam tells him if he is going to start another scene at the office he might as well stay put.

So he sits on the couch, gnawing away on his thumbnail, some obscure channel on mute in front of him. His stomach is in knots and he hasn’t had the chance to shower that day, or even cared to.

When Sam comes home he brings a pie. One look tells him everything he needs to know. He swallows down everything he wants to say and goes to get some plates.

***

The good news is that the tumor has not spread or grown larger. The bad news is the radiation didn’t really work-- as was predicted. The doctor recommends another round. Sam says no.

Dean says nothing. He is torn, really. On one hand, he wants Sam to try anything and everything, but on the other hand he doesn’t want to subject him to more radiation than necessary, all for nothing. So he stays silent and lets Sam make that decision. In the end he doesn’t know what he is supposed to feel, but decides he has no right to feel anything. Sam is the one with cancer.

“It’s not growing. Maybe… it’ll stay that size and it’ll be manageable for a long time.” Dean isn’t sure who Sam is trying to convince.

***

It doesn’t get super hot in Washington, but any summer is better than the bitter cold they’ve been stuck with for months. Dean sighs into the light breeze, beer tipped to his mouth. He stands on their tiny balcony, facing the wooded area surrounding their unit. The sun is bright, and perfect and Dean feels content for the first time in months.

Actually, he thinks, as he gazes at the indescribable brightness, he hasn’t felt anything remotely close to content, let alone happy, for years. Not since…

_Stop._

He does that once in a while. Allows himself to wallow in self-pity. To remember how things were. Before. Before the emptiness. Before the aimless wandering. Before when there was more to him than just Sam. A life that could have been. Back then when it was just him and Sam and…

Cas.

He downs his beer, emptying the bottle in less than a minute. He slams it against the chipping wood of the railing and releases the breath he’s been holding.

Fucking _Cas_. Even seven years later and just a single thought of him sends him reeling and drinking. It was always like that, in the beginning. Dean was a mess when he left, the shock of it reverberating months and years later. And no matter how many times he tried to brush it off, Sam saw right through that bullshit.

It got so bad they nearly threw punches over it years back, when Dean was unstable and drinking every damn day. Sam wasn’t pleased and he confronted Dean about it. About Cas. Dean doesn’t remember much from that night six years ago, but he knows his point must have stuck.

Sam doesn’t bring up Cas anymore. Ever.

***

The headaches come back with a ferocity that surprises them both. They go from an annoyance to a full on assault in the span of a few weeks and Dean is left helpless and wrecked. Then the vomiting starts. When the headaches get so bad Sam would rush to the bathroom, puking until there is nothing but bile and Dean would stare up at the ceiling, a silent prayer on his lips.

He has to stop doing that. In his moments of weakness, when Sam is crouched in front of the toilet, or head down on the kitchen table, a bottle of useless pills in front of him… yeah, he gets pretty close to saying the words.

But he’ll bite his tongue off before he ever gets them out.

***

Sam starts forgetting things. Not unimportant things like where the hell he put the car keys, or his email password. No, he forgets actual memories. Like things they used to do, towns they’d visit, doing stupid stuff at Bobby’s.

When it happens enough for them to notice, Dean just stares at his brother, as Sammy gives him a quick, apologetic smile. His eyes grow haunted and he resists the urge to grab his baby brother and thrash him around until he gets better. Because that is never going to happen.

New prescriptions soon crowd their medicine cabinet, Sam popping them without a glance at Dean, three times a day. Dean still mostly does the cooking. He doesn’t mind and he is actually pretty damn good, he thinks. But more often than not Sam declines or eats a few bites, chasing the food around his plate like a bored four year old.

Sam’s clothing starts to sag around his frame but he can't be bothered to notice or care.

“Why would I need to buy new clothes, Dean? Who do I need to impress?”

Dean looks at his brother, always such an imposing figure towering over everybody, eyes bright with mirth, and finds him pale and thin, his hair limp and faded. It hits him then, how pathetically fragile he looks. And Sam notices because he comes closer, eyes softening as he looks down at his older brother, his protector, always, and says, “It’s ok, Dean.”

Dean sucks in a breath, eyes dark and lethal. “Don’t fucking do that, Sam. Don’t you dare try to tell me this is ok.”

Sam just sighs. “Dean, look at you, look at us. You haven’t left this place in weeks. When was the last time you went for a drive? When was the last time you picked up a girl? Come on, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. I don’t want this, Dean.”

Truth be told, he can’t remember the last time he took Baby out or went to a bar or hooked up with some hot girl. It should have bothered him that he couldn’t even remember the last time he got laid was. But he feels nothing. Actually, that isn’t true. He feels like he is drowning, like he can’t breath half the fucking time. He wants to snap at Sammy, tell him to mind his own damn business, tell him maybe he wouldn’t be stuck here, all cooped up if he wasn’t--

“How do you expect me to do any of that when you’re sick, Sammy,” he chokes, his vision blurring rapidly. And then, because he is a coward, he leaves without an answer.

He does take a drive then, parks the Impala in some random field and sits on the hood just as twilight is setting in. The remaining vivid colors of the late sky disappear all together, and night breaks free, a million stars exploding overhead. Dean stares up towards the heavens and the feeling of unbearable loneliness overtakes him.

Once again it is on the tip of his tongue. The words to his salvation. His one, last hope for Sam. _For Sam_. That is all it is, he tells himself. It would be for Sam. He’d do anything for him, right? He swore he’d find a way to help him.

And yet the words will not come. He closes his eyes in shame, fear and regret slicing through him mercilessly. He knows why he can’t-- _won’t_ say the words. He can’t bear the repercussions, whatever they may be. Since Sam’s diagnosis, the thought comes to him a million times a day. A possible way out. A way to save his brother. A miracle.

He scoffs. If Sam only knew. If he finds out what Dean is plotting. Nothing. He isn’t really planning on doing it, so it doesn’t matter.

Even if he prays to Cas, if he even remotely entertains the thought, there is no guarantee he’ll show up. I mean, who is Dean to Cas now? Merely another human in a sea of other worthless humans. An Angel of God has no reason whatsoever to answer whatever plea Dean asks of him.

He shakes the horrible thoughts away. It fucking kills him to even think it, the possibility that Cas might actually ignore his prayer. And that is why he can never get the words out. He is so afraid his plea will fall on deaf ears, and _that_ he won’t be able to get over, ever. And yet he would risk his sanity, he’d risk losing himself all over again if it will only heal Sammy.

The stars twinkle up above, mocking him with their brilliance. It is quiet and balmy and he just wants to fucking weep like a child. He isn’t an idiot. He knows Sam is getting worse day by day. And he is so tired, physically, mentally. He isn’t good like this to Sam, or anybody, but sleep is always hard for him, and dreaming is out of the question.

All he has in the world is Sam and pretty soon, he won’t even have him, and then what will be the fucking point of anything? He was never good at settling down, never really wanted that lifestyle. He tried it once and that certainly didn’t end well.

But that doesn’t mean he wants to be alone forever. Well forever was coming sooner than he’d like. His chest aches with that thought and he leans forward, breathing ragged until he finally sits up, wipes his face, and drives back home.

***

When Metatron took Castiel’s grace and wings, essentially turning him human, no one knew what would happen. Dean had his doubts as well. He was ashamed to admit it but he didn’t think Cas would survive long in his word as a simple human being.

He felt sorry for Cas. Not only was his immortality stolen from him, but his wings were ripped from him and for some reason Dean couldn’t abide that affront. Cas was his best friend and though he long ago stopped looking at him and seeing _angel_ , it was still a horrible thought that he might never regain his status in heaven.

Cas on the other hand, didn’t seem to terribly mind. If it were a lesser angel, they would have been driven mad already with the banality of humanity. Just the simple day to day rituals would have inconvenienced any prior celestial being. But not Cas. After his initial difficulties, he fell quite easily into his new life.

Dean was surprised, yet secretly pleased because all it meant was more time with Cas. And despite everything they’d been through--betrayals and Sam nearly dying and the fucking Angel Tablet and Crowley, Cas came out of it stronger than ever.

And then Dean had turned into a demon and nearly destroyed both Sam and Cas. It was a nightmare, one he couldn’t wake up from for a very long time. Throw the Mark of Cain into the mix and it was fun times. That constant urge to kill was better than any drug, better than sex, better than any feeling Dean’s ever experienced. And that eventually got the better of him.

Sam and Cas worked so hard to fix him, to save him. They exorcized the demon from him but they couldn’t remove that feeling of bliss and rapture at the mere thought of driving his knife into the throat of another living, breathing thing-- didn’t matter if it was human or not.

He tried so fucking hard to fight it, and harder still to hide it. It nearly killed Sam when it was all for naught. A pile of humans littered their feet and blood pounding beautifully in his ears and Sam on his knees pleading with Dean, begging him for an explanation when he had none to give.

But the look on Cas did it for him. It wasn’t horror so much as sorrow. Even after he had begged Cas to end him. It all could have been prevented if that damned foolish ex-angel would do as told. But who the fuck was he kidding? Cas would no more put a blade to Dean then Dean would to Cas. Didn’t matter the circumstance. They were family and all they had left.

After his blood lust had been sated and head cleared, he puked until his guts rebelled. He raged at Cas, calling him every word he could think of, every hateful, blasphemous word, until his throat was hoarse and his eyes were bloodshot. And Cas just stood there, face a mask, inhaling every syllable and not budging an inch.

When it was all done, Cas very calmly asked Sam to give them some time, waiting until Sam had driven off, then approached Dean, crowding up into him like so many other times before. Ages ago, it seemed to Dean, the patient, blues of his eyes searing into his soul like no one ever had, not even his own brother.

And just like that the fight had left him and he sagged against Cas, exhausted, shame-filled, muttering apologies over and over again like a mantra. Cas held him, nearly upright because his energy was pretty much depleted, and soothed him with the softest of sighs and the lightest of touches, fingers combing gently through his sweat-soaked hair.

Dean could barely look him in the eye. He’d become the monster everyone had always claimed he was. And if Cas were a vengeful angel, he’d have every right to destroy him where he stood. But Cas just sat him down, grabbed his face and said _we will find a way to fix this_ , and God help him Dean actually believe him.

So the three of them went back to the Bunker, hunting on hold indefinitely, and tried to figure out a way to help Dean. It was awkward at best. Sam couldn’t look at him without cringing, or at least that’s what it felt like to Dean. His brother tip-toed around him, placating him at every turn. Hell he couldn’t even go to the bathroom without Sam shooting him an encouraging smirk.

Cas had infinite patience with him. When his nightmares overtook him, Cas was there. When he refused to get out of bed, he was there, annoyingly so. Where Sam was floundering, Cas was taking the lead. He was filled with a new purpose and that purpose was Dean Winchester.

***

Dean comes home at two in the morning. Sam is surprisingly awake, whether to wait up for him or restlessness, he can’t guess. He drops his keys by the doorside table and joins his brother on the couch. The TV isn’t even on. It is perfectly still. He sits, close enough for it to be intentional. Sam looks down.

“You gotta understand something, Sammy. It doesn’t matter how old we get, or how much shit we’ve been through, and it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do, or whether or not I have a life. You are my life, Sammy. And without you in it, I don’t have a purpose. I don’t wanna drive down to the ocean if I don’t have someone in the seat next to me. And I don’t want to go out and do pointless things when all I want is to spend whatever time you have left, with you. Don’t ask that of me, Sam. There is _nothing_ in this world that would bring me any joy right now, not now, not ever, not if you can’t be there to share in that joy.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and no less true than the first time Dean had laid eyes on his baby brother. Sam hangs his head, long hair obscuring his face. Dean badly wants to reach over and brush it out of the way, just to see if he is getting his very strong point across. But just then Sam straightens out, eyes impossibly bright in the darkness of the room, lips a thin line.

When he speaks, his brother almost manages to control the heartbreak in his tone.

“Ok, Dean. Ok.

***

They don’t have a Christmas. Dean refuses when Sam suggests it. To Dean it is a stark reminder that it might be the last Christmas they’d ever have together. Sam doesn’t press the issue but Dean can tell he’s disappointed. He feels like a total dick for refusing his brother but his skin practically crawls with the melodrama and he doesn’t think he can handle it.

When New Year’s comes along Sam is practically a shell of who he was. His clothing hangs and his skin appears thin and drawn, his cheekbones sharp and stark against his pale face. His head aches unbearably from time to time and he suffers nosebleeds and fevers. He doesn’t eat as much because of the nausea and he hardly reads anymore, claiming vision problems.

They sit together at the doctor’s office, Sam calm, resigned, and Dean a jittery, sweaty mess, and listen as the doctor doles out the final word on the matter.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you better news, Sam. If you want to talk about hospice…”

“No,” Sam says emphatically. “That won’t be necessary. My brother will…” he trails off and the room is dead silent, and Dean wants to bolt but he can’t because his body feels like lead so he forces a nod, and Sam thanks the doctor and they finally get to their feet.

They leave, and Dean excuses himself to throw up in the restroom, hands fisting the edge of the sink, a choked, pained moan fighting free. He looks at his own reflection and doesn’t recognize the face. His eyes are a stranger’s; lifeless, empty, save for the constant anguish he feels.

Weeks. Two months, maybe.

He cleans himself up as best he can and goes to meet Sam at the car. They don’t talk until they get back home where they plop on the sofa in similar deflated poses.

“Dean,” Sam finally whispers with a sideways glance. “You know what I want.”

“Hell no, Sammy. Not an option.”

Sam twists his body further towards his brother. “Dean, look at me. I’m only gonna get worse. And you have no idea the pain I deal with every minute of every day. I’m losing my mind over here, and before I get to the point where I’m this blabbering, drooling thing, I need you to take care of this.”

Dean stands, livid. “Take care if this? Sam, you’re talking about me putting a fucking gun to your head! You’re asking me to take your life. I’ve been fighting every day to _save_ your life and now you’re asking me to end you?” He can hardly breathe as he stares down at his baby brother, eyes imploring and pleading. He shakes his head. “I can’t, Sammy. I can’t. Don’t you dare ask this of me.”

Sam licks his lips, eyes downcast. “I get it, Dean, I really do. You think I can’t see what a burden I’ve been to you? What this is doing to you? But if you were me you’d ask the same thing. I know you would. You wouldn’t want to waste away like this. Dean, I don’t want to die like this.”

The tears come, flowing erratically down Dean’s face as he shakes his head in frustration. “You. Are not. A burden. Sammy, you’re never that. Don’t say that and don’t even think it. Now I will find a way to fix this, one way or another. And I don’t want to hear another damn word about this, Sammy. Not one.”

He slams the door to the bathroom shut, strips his clothes and gets into the scalding shower. The water feels blissful and therapeutic and he shuts his eyes and pretends everything is dandy for a few minutes. But a flash of Sam’s withered face sends his gut roiling and he leans his forehead against the tile to rid him of the awful visions.

When he’s done he wraps a towel around his waist and stands in front of the mirror. He sighs, his whole body trembling with the effort. His eyes are red-rimmed and there are deep purple bruises underneath that speak of months of insomnia. He glances at his left shoulder, at the smooth, unmarked skin there and suddenly feels a pang. He misses it sometimes, though he’d never admit it out loud.

He splays his right hand across the area where the old handprint used to be. Cas’s mark. Seared into his flesh like a brand. Gone forever now and Dean doesn’t want to remember why. Doesn’t want to bring back all those horrible memories and the anguish he felt when Cas had left, for good.

He gets dressed and gets on with his day.

***

They worked to the point of exhaustion, taking turns delving into the hundreds of weighty tomes the Bunker provided. When Dean slept, Sam and Cas would spend the night pouring over archaic script, and ancient scrolls, languages lost long ago. Then Sam would rest and then Cas, and the cycle continued for weeks.

They didn’t let Dean stray very far, fearful of what might happen. Dean was annoyed, but couldn’t exactly blame them or complain. He was getting restless again, and it wasn’t from claustrophobia. The Mark was itching again, the nagging feeling spreading throughout his body, getting stronger day by day.

He didn’t let on, but Cas wasn’t stupid. He may have been somewhat human now, but he was over two thousand years old. When Sam had gone out for a grocery run, he had approached Dean.

“How much longer until the Mark demands blood?”

No foreplay with Cas. He sighed. “I dunno, Cas. It’s not like it has a timer or anything. It feels...It feels like my blood is boiling and I’m dying of thirst and I need to quench it somehow. That’s the best I can describe it. I’m not gonna go all postal, though. Usually something big needs to set me off. Right now it’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I’m fine, though.”

Cas stared at him like he was seeing right into him. It was eerily unnerving, but he was used to it so he allowed the inspection. “I’m sorry, Dean. We’re working as fast as we can.”

Dean shook his head. “Cas, it’s not your fault. It’s not Sam’s. And we might never find a way out of this.” He hooked Cas’s gaze with his, stepping closer. “That’s why you gotta do it, Cas. End me, before it’s too late. Before I destroy anyone else’s life,” he pleaded.

Cas broke his gaze, eyes flashing in pain. “I can’t, Dean. Don’t ask this of me.”

Dean set his jaw, pulse racing with frustration. “Why, Cas? You’ve done this before. I know you have. You’ve killed. You killed your own kind, your own brothers and sisters. Why them and not me? I’m a monster, Cas. You’re supposed to kill people like me!”

“I will not end your life, Dean!” Cas roared, eyes ablaze. Dean took a step backwards, shocked at the vehemence in Cas’s tone. But Cas didn’t allow the retreat. He reached across the empty space and grabbed Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer. “I pulled you from Hell, Dean, I saved your soul and rebuilt you cell by cell. I risked everything for you-- my grace, my life and finally my wings. All of this because of you. And now you dare ask me to undo everything I have worked for years to preserve?” he seethed, face inches from Dean’s.

“You do not understand what you are asking of me, Dean. You’ve never understood.” He released the taller man and left the room, leaving Dean shaken, distraught, and strangely numb.

He found Cas later on, for once not pouring over a thirty pound book. He was sitting in a leather easy chair, eyes straight ahead, vacant. His hair was damp from an apparent shower and he wore loose sweats and one of Dean’s t-shirts.

Dean couldn’t stop the fond smirk when he noticed. He approached Cas slowly, cautiously. When he was certain he was welcome, he sat down across from him in the other chair, leaning forward.

“I apologize for my earlier outburst, Dean,” Cas suddenly said. Dean blinked. “Don’t Cas. You don’t owe me a damn thing and if anything I’m the one who acted like the dick. I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’ve put up with so much crap, and I’m sure I haven’t been the easiest of people to deal with. And now you’re human and living on borrowed grace and when that runs out I’m not sure what’s gonna happen to you Cas, and I don’t like that feeling.”

“I’m fine, Dean. I will be fine.”

“You don’t know that, Cas. And I’m freaking out right now because if something were to happen to you…” he looked away, hating the dreaded feeling he got whenever he thought of the possibilities. “I feel helpless and everyone’s been trying to help me out with my problem, and it’s not like I’m not grateful, I really am. But I wish I could do something for you, too. I feel useless, and I feel like I break everything I touch but if there was something, you’d tell me, right, Cas?”

The ex-angel cocked his head, eyes bright and placid. “Come here, Dean.”

Dean quirked his brow in question but stood, towering over Cas. “Kneel.” Eyes warily on Cas he froze in indecision for a few seconds before finally going to his knees. He felt strangely vulnerable as he was eye-level with Cas, who hadn’t budged from his seat. He frowned, licked his lips, then raised his brows to Cas is question.

Finally Cas leaned forward, raising his arm towards Dean, who flinched back in surprise. “Don’t move,” said Cas calmly. He reached his hand out, and pressed it flush to Dean’s chest, right above his heart. He shut his eyes and a soft glow spread under his fingertips, warming Dean to the core. It was over after a few seconds, leaving Dean slightly breathless and flushed.

“What the hell was that, Cas?”

“Your soul, Dean. I wanted to show you. You are not a monster, nor does this Mark have any hold over you. It doesn’t change who you are. The same righteous man I grasped and pulled forth from the deepest, blackest bowels of Hell. To me, your soul shines bright and pure. Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

Dean stared, then hung his head, vision swimming. Knees protesting, he collapsed to the floor, energy seeping from his pores. He sat on the floor, knees up to his chest, head down. “I don’t think I can do this, Cas. Not alone.”

“You’re not alone, Dean. You may bear the Mark but you are not alone in this fight. Sam and I won’t let you flounder. I meant what I said. We will find a way to fix this.” He stood and offered his arm to Dean, pulling him up easily enough.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said roughly, and because it felt strangely natural he pulled him in, wrapping his arms around the slighter frame. Cas not only allowed the embrace, Dean felt similar warmth surrounding his own back.

That night Dean went to bed with a lighter heart and at ease, ready to face the next day head on. But hours before dawn, when it was still pitch black and silence hung throughout the Bunker, a sudden, intense flash of light resonated through the entire place, effectively jostling Dean out of his REM cycle.

He crashed out of his room just as a disheveled Sam stumbled out of his own. “What the hell!”

“I don’t know. Where’s Cas?” They threw the door open to Cas’s room and found it empty and quiet. Then they ran back to the main room, calling out for him. They searched high and low, voices hoarse from calling his name. By dawn they’d given up, realizing wherever he was, it wasn’t with them.

They went outside but found no obvious signs of disturbance, the Impala still parked in place. It was like he simply vanished into thin air. Dean’s stomach was in knots and Sam retreated into silent contemplation. They spent the entire day like that, worrying, not eating, barely refraining from sniping at each other.

And then as soon as the sun had gone down, and they had exhausted every opinion and theory, Cas came back to them. By way of appearing in the middle of the sitting room.

The brothers jumped to their feet as they took in Cas, noting the not so subtle changes he was exhibiting, from the suit and tan trenchcoat, to the intense blues of his eyes, to the way he just magically materialized in front of their eyes.

“Hello, Dean. Sam.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Cas, are you...are you an angel?”

A slight incline of his head, eyes upturned towards Dean. “It appears that I am.”

“What the hell happened, Cas? Where did you go?” Dean was still too livid to be pleased at the moment. He crossed his arms and waiting for an answer.

“I was called back. To Heaven.”

“How?”

“By God.”

Two identical looks of shock were aimed straight at Cas. Dean’s mouth worked around the words but they wouldn’t come out. Sam saved him. “God? God called you back? He’s back in Heaven?”

“Yes. He’s come back. And He wasn’t pleased with Metatron. Nor the fact that nearly all the angels were missing from Heaven. So after Metatron told Him all that has passed, He raised me back up, restored me and my grace that Metatron had stolen from me.”

“By restore, you mean gave you full angel status again? Wings and everything?” Sam spoke animatedly, like he couldn’t be more thrilled with the news.

“Yes, I have my wings back. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed them until now,” he said, almost wistfully. Dean should have felt ecstatic, and glad and happy for Cas, but he felt strangely bereft, like something had just disappeared from his life.

“Then why are you here now,” he asked in a dead tone. Cas turned to him, expression curiously blank. “I promised you a solution to your problem, Dean. I came to fulfil that promise.”

“I don’t get it.”

Cas walked over to Dean, and Dean had to fight the urge to look away from those eyes. Those eyes that were so familiar and yet filled with something not of this world. The angel stopped close to Dean and _God_ even his _hair_ was different, more severe like when he’d first met him. It was surreal and Dean hated the feeling in his gut when Cas looked at him like that.

“The Mark should never have been parted from Cain. It was not his place, and now, it’s going back where It belongs.” He reached forward and grasped Dean’s wrist with one hand while the other rested over the raised, angry mark. He closed his eyes and suddenly started chanting gibberish until Dean realized it was Enochian, and his eyes were glued to Cas’s lips as the strange language burst forth in perfect clarity and before he realized what was happening, he felt a rush of burning heat where the Mark was.

It felt even worse than when he acquired the Mark. He screamed and nearly fell to his knees if Cas hadn’t firmly kept him upright and in place. His vision blanked and when it was all over he collapsed against Cas, throat raw and head on fire. Cas easily caught him, guiding him to the nearest couch, waving away Sam’s offer for help. Dean passed out after that, falling into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, Cas was gone and Sam was waiting, a concerned look plastered on his face. He sat in the chair, hands clasped together, and breathed an audible sigh of relief when he saw Dean’s eyes open.

“How long was I out?”

“Two days.”

He sat upright, heart hammering. “Two days? What the hell! Where’s Cas?”

“Gone.”

And that one word nearly undid him and though he valiantly tried to hide it from Sam, his voice betrayed him. “Where?”

“Heaven, I assume.”

“What, that’s it? He’s done? He got rid of the Mark and went back home? What did he say to you, Sam?”

“Dean, calm down. He mentioned he’d be back when you woke up, to check up on you.”

“Check up on me? What the fuck, Sam?” He was being hysterical and he didn’t even care. It was deja vu all over again. “We just got him back, Sam. He was fine here with us, wasn’t he? After all the betrayals up there and he goes back to them!”

“Dean--”

“No, this is bullshit, Sam!” He got up from the couch, feeling a bit hungry and light-headed, but also blissfully lacking in the urge to slaughter anything that breathed. He looked down at his arm, at the smooth skin there, and remembered Cas’s warm hands on him, the impossible blue eyes searing into his very soul, deeper than any mark ever could, and he couldn’t breathe properly.

He stumbled away from Sam towards his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He couldn't believe this was happening. After everything. And boom! Cas gets his wings back and becomes Heaven’s poster boy again. He felt ill for being so bitter, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed like a personal affront.

The bed looked inviting, despite his two day rest. He would have loved a shower and some food but he lay down anyway, allowing his sorrow and pain to lull him to sleep.

He knew Cas was there before he ever opened his eyes. He sighed, rubbing his lids before propping up on his elbows. Sure enough, Cas was sitting on his bed, facing the door.

“Hello, Dean.” He turned his head and even in the very dim lighting Dean could see the small ghost of a smile there. He wanted to run out of there so damn fast, and he wanted to never leave. But mostly he just wanted to beg Cas not to go away again.

“Cas.” He sat up and leaned back against the headboard, not really in the mood to get out of bed quite yet. “You get your wings back and suddenly think it’s ok to lounge on my bed again while I sleep.” He didn’t quite smirk but Cas’s eyes lit up all the same. A pang in his chest nearly sent him horizontal.

Cas turned his body. “I came to see how you were. I knew you’d be exhausted after what happened.”

“So, what, I’m cured or something? I’m no longer damned?”

“You were never damned, Dean. And yes, the Mark is not something you have to worry about any longer.”

“But why? Why me?”

“Because you were always self-sacrificing, Dean. And after everything we’ve been through that remains fact. God knows this. He sent me to aid you and purge you from Cain’s mark. And now that you have been--”

“You can leave,” Dean finished for him, eyes stone. Cas sighed. “You don’t understand the implications of the Lord’s return, Dean. He is angry with how things have transpired. All the angels are back in Heaven now, and until everything is sorted, that’s where they’ll stay.”

Dean paled. “And you, Cas? Why aren’t you with them now? Or is that your next stop? You needed to make sure I’m really whole and healed before you leave again, never to return?”

“Dean…”

“No, this is bullshit, Cas! It’s like a slap in the face. Everything you’ve done since we met, everything we’ve done! All your talk of rebelling and now what? You’re just gonna run home? To the family that wanted you killed?”

“It’s different now, Dean,” Cas whispered. “Our Father is home now. The orders come from Him directly now. I am only allowed to be here right now because you and I have a bond, Dean. I’m sure it’s not a surprise to you, merely an affirmation. But when I pulled you from Hell I had to infuse some of my own grace to your soul. And that remains true to this day. I have an obligation towards you, Dean.”

He was gonna be sick, he was gonna spew his fucking guts right on his bed. “Obligation? You’re joking, Cas. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now. We’re family, Cas! Your real family, not the dicks upstairs who seem to operate with ulterior motives at every turn. How can you be so quick to forgive them, to trust them?”

Cas turned away, eyes downcast. “I know this isn’t easy to hear. But you’ve been a great friend to me, Dean.”

Dean made a strangled sound deep in his throat as he struggled out of bed, coming around to face Cas. “ _Friend?_ You just told me we’re fucking bonded and you spew that garbage at me? Well fuck you, Cas. I don’t want your friendship, and I don’t want this bond! Not if you’re gonna run away, not if I’m never gonna see you again.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” and Cas’s voice broke, and Dean suddenly realized Cas had truly expected to stay with Dean and Sam. He had fully accepted his new life and could have been happy here with them. He knelt down. “Cas, don’t go. Please don’t go.”

“Dean--”

He grabbed Cas’s arm, clenching tighter than he’d ever held onto anything before. It didn’t even phase the angel. “Look at me, _damn it_. I’m begging you not to go. God would understand. He has to know, everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve tried to do for mankind--for angels!”

“And what about the rest, Dean?” Cas said tiredly, almost human-like. “What about the death, and the souls, and Crowley? What would He have to say to all that? I sinned, Dean. Horribly, deeply.”

“I thought God was supposed to forgive those who repent for their sins, Cas? I know you, Cas. Better than anyone. If I know you, and forgave you, then surely your Father could too.” His eyes bored into Cas, searching for a flicker of understanding, a twinge of hope. Anything. But Cas was stubbornly closed off to him.

“I’m sorry, Dean. But even now I am called back.” He made to stand, but Dean refused to budge. Cas softened his gaze, placed his hand over Dean’s and slowly wrenched it off, leaving Dean strangely cold and empty. Cas stood, and their positions would have been a sight if things weren’t so depressing.

After a beat, Cas moved around Dean, who sprang to life, vicious and enraged. “If you leave this room, Cas, so help me we are done. We are done, Cas, because I can’t-- won’t do this again.” Then he turned, and swiftly removed his shirt, pointing to his shoulder. “I don’t want this, Cas. I don’t want any part of you attached to me for the rest of my life. Not if you’re not here. Get rid of it.”

Cas looked momentarily horrified, like it was an insult to even suggest such a thing, but then his eyes turned pained, imploring. “Dean…”

“Get rid of it,” Dean seethed, mouth curling down in rage. After a heated moment of tension, Cas approached him, eyes all too human, and reached forward, placing his hand against the exact spot his print was on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean gasped as a sudden, sharp sensation, not dissimilar to getting your spleen sucked out of your body filled him, and a wave of nausea hit him full force. And then it was gone and while the experience was reminiscent of getting the Mark of Cain removed, in this case instead of relief he felt only bereft and muddled.

Cas was watching him with a mixture of disappointment and regret and Dean couldn’t speak a word, even though his mind was screaming at him, rebelling inside his head. _Whathaveyoudone whathaveyoudone_. Over and over and over again.

He stared wide-eyed at the angel in front of him. Still his Cas, and yet not. His, he thought. When did he start thinking of Cas as his? When did he allow the angel to get so close to him? Why does this fucking hurt so much?

“Please take care of yourself, Dean. I hope you can find some happiness in your life.”

“Damn you, Cas,” he finally managed, breath frayed and tortured. Cas swallowed. “Please tell Sam goodbye for me. He would do anything for you, Dean.”

And just like that, with the soft and swift flap of invisible wings, Cas was gone.

***

Sam hardly gets out of bed now. It’s not even because of the massive headaches, but all the drugs he’s taking to manage the pain. And of course the morphine. It helps until it doesn’t and then Sam shoots Dean that damn look and he needs to move away before he gives in.

He holds a cup of water to Sam’s mouth and watches as his brother struggles to drink from the straw. He gets two sips in before he lays back on the mound of pillows, exhausted and nauseated. His hands are paper thin and his face translucent and sickly. He looks three times his age.

Dean sits idly and waits for Sam to ask something of him. Water, some blended meal, a tissue, or even assistance walking to the bathroom. He insists, even as Dean purses his lips and sits against the closed door, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

Sometimes he’s well enough to sit with Dean and watch tv, though those times are mostly a thing of the past. When he refuses food two days in a row, Dean realizes what’s happening.

“You’re not starving yourself to death, Sammy.”

His brother is too tired to argue, just glares. “Not hungry. But I wouldn’t choose to die like that anyway. Too long. But I’m too weak and too much of a coward to slit my own wrists. And you won’t help me,” he declares accusingly, making Dean hot with guilt. “What kind of a brother are you?”

That had done it.

What kind of a brother _is_ he that he refuses to do everything in his power to help Sam? Not to end his life, but to save him? Chest caving in, he grabs his keys and flees. Just a few miles down the road, to the nice, empty field he’d found before. He parks the car, hands on the wheel, shaking, but not from the chill outside.

Eyes blurry, chest heavy, he sucks in a deep breath. “Ok, you fucking win.” He heaves a stifled sigh and gets out of the car. It is beyond freezing, his breath a pattern of misty fog cutting through the air. He looks up at the clear sky, shakes his head in disbelief that he’s actually doing this, and slowly gets on the roof of the Impala.

He sits still for a moment, collecting his mangled up thoughts. It doesn’t work so before he loses his nerve he bows his head and clasps his hands together, bringing them up to rest against his mouth. He feels like he’s about to hurl and he starts to sweat despite the arctic temperatures. He closes his eyes solemnly.

“Cas…” he sucks in a breath, holds it, allowing the pain to recede before blowing it back out. “Castiel, if you’re listening up there, or wherever you are, if you can hear me...I need you. I need you because Sam needs you. He’s dying, Cas. He’s got days, weeks if we’re lucky. I can’t do this anymore, Cas.” He clasps his hands tighter, knuckles hard against his lips.

“I’m begging you here, Cas. I’m begging you like I’ve never begged for anything in my life. Please help Sammy. For me. I’ve never asked for anything from you. In all these years, I’ve never prayed to you, or to anyone. But now I’m praying for some help here, Cas. And if you ever gave two shits about me, or Sam for that matter, you’d know how important this is. Please, Cas, Castiel.”

His whole body is tense and his mouth is trembling with the effort. He hastily wipes his cheeks when he hears nothing for a whole minute. Anger sits dormant beneath the pain and anguish.

_Damn you, Cas_ , he finally thinks, moving to slide off the hood. A sudden sound behind him stills his movements, the sharp, familiar, indescribable echo of wings--and he suddenly can’t breathe.

“Dean.”

He whips his head, nearly falling from his car. And when he regains equilibrium, Cas is still standing there, waiting patiently on him.

“Cas?” he asks stupidly, cautiously approaching so as not to startle the angel. Good God he’s wearing the same fucking suit (no tie) and trench coat, and his face is exactly the same as the last time he saw him, hardly a wrinkle to be seen. But the proof is in his eyes, those eyes that couldn’t hold an ounce of deceit or contain all the hidden qualities that made Cas _Cas_.

“Hello, Dean.”

His knees nearly buckle. “You actually came.” And Cas cocks his head to the side and Dean nearly breaks down right then and there.

“Of course I came. You prayed to me.”

“But...why? I mean, how are you here? I thought all the angels were barred from returning. Not that I’m not...glad to see you.”

“It is true that we are not permitted to return without express permission.”

Dean frowns. “So you got permission to come to me?”

“No.”

“I don’t get it.”

Cas very nearly sighs, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. He comes closer to Dean until they are a foot apart. “Do you think that just because I got rid of this”--he points to Dean’s shoulder-- “that it means that anything has changed between us? I told you. I am infused with your soul. When you call for me, it is in my very nature to return to you.”

Dean is in awe. He truly never thought he was so completely connected to Cas. And now he feels like a complete dick for forcing Cas to remove his mark. Even he knows it isn’t that simple to erase someone from your life. He swallows roughly and refuses to let his gaze waiver from Cas, despite the shame coursing through him.

“Will you help me? Will you help Sam?” He tries not to sound too desperate but Cas’s expression softens impossibly and before Dean knows what the hell is happening he is embraced by the angel, and warmth fills him from head to toe. He nearly collapses from the intense relief it brings as he returns the hug, fingers clenching onto Cas for dear life.

“You stubborn, stubborn man. Why did you not pray for me sooner?” Cas whispers in his ear and it’s all Dean can do not to weep right then and there. He pulls back, angry with himself, because Cas is absolutely right. He was being selfish. He should have been thinking of Sam but all this time he was concerned about his own pride.

“I thought about it, all the time,” he confesses, and Cas eyes him curiously. The closeness and intensity of the gaze turns Dean’s mind to mush and before he does or says anything stupid he takes a step back, clears his throat and turns his head towards his car.

“Will you come now?”

Cas starts for the car and Dean just stares. “You want to...ride with me? Can’t you get there in like a second?”

Cas stops, a frown marring his brow. “Oh. I suppose I can--”

“No! I mean, of course you can. Hop in. I just didn’t think you’d care to be in a car again. Not when you can fly.”

“If you are there, it will not be so bad,” and Cas gets in, leaving Dean gawking at the empty space, his stomach in knots. He finally gets behind the wheel and starts the car.

It is awkward at first. Dean can’t properly sort through his thoughts and Cas was never one to start up a conversation. Dean still can’t believe Cas is really here, that he heard his prayers.

“I can always hear you, Dean.”

His heart skips. “Jeez, Cas, really? Can you please not burrow in my head?”

“I apologize. But your soul is projecting your emotions quite strongly right now. I’m unable to turn it off. If it’s making you uncomfortable I can just meet you there.”

Dean sighs. “No, it’s fine. I just keep forgetting.” Then he remembers what Cas just said to him. “What a minute. You’ve heard me before? You knew about Sam? You knew and you never came to help?” His knuckles grip the wheel tight as he tries not to turn and throw a death glare to Cas.

Cas stares straight ahead. “I heard your pain. I heard Sam. He prayed to me to watch over you when he is gone. He prayed to me numerous times, Dean, and it was always the same thing. To watch over you. He never prayed for himself.”

An errant tear drops to Dean’s cheek as he listens to Cas with a dawning sense of horror. “And what, you were just gonna let him die?” He turns and his vision blurs dangerously. Cas sighs and turns his head towards Dean, eyes raking over the raw emotions on display. “Dean...it is not our place to intervene.”

“This is _Sam_ , Cas! He was your friend and he was dying. _Is_ dying. What if I had not prayed to you? You would have let him die?”

“I am not God, Dean. I do not question the choices He makes or doesn’t make. People pray for miracles all the time, Dean. To cure their loved ones, heal them, save them. We hear them all. But we cannot intervene. No angel has been on earth since we left it, myself included.”

“Then why me? Why did you come when I prayed?”

“Because it’s _you_ , Dean.”

Dean shakes his head. “So what, you’re my Guardian Angel or something?”

“Whose else would I be?”

Dean nearly rolls the car over as his heart shudders to a halt. To have it spelt out like that, even though he knew--he fucking knew it since forever, is almost too much for Dean to handle. He has nothing to say but thankfully they are nearly there.

When he pulls in, he waits a moment before getting out. “I don’t know how to thank you for this, Cas. If I could have traded places with him I would.”

“I know, Dean. And you don’t ever have to thank me.” They get out and Dean’s legs are wobbly as they make their way up the stairs and inside. It’s dark in the condo but he swears Cas is glowing, or maybe it’s how he’s always seen him.

Cas doesn’t waste time admiring the decor. He walks purposefully towards the bedroom, his face falling slightly as he stares at the shell that is Sam Winchester. Dean waits by the threshold, his nerves on edge. He can’t actually believe this is happening.

“He is very sick,” Cas declares, voice soft and sad. Dean’s face falls. “Yeah…”

Cas takes a deep breath and reaches forward, resting two fingers carefully on Sam’s forehead. Dean holds his breath, about to collapse. A soft, warm glow appears where Cas’s fingers rest and it grows brighter still. The angel has his eyes closed and Dean alternates his gaze between his brother and Cas, fearful of whatever will, or won’t happen. What if it’s too late? What if Cas can’t reach that deeply? What if--

The light fades and Cas opens his eyes, a bright, unnaturally blue glow seeping through the lids momentarily before dissolving. He steps back and looks over at Dean. He reaches out, beckoning him closer and Dean nearly stumbles getting to him.

Dean looks down at his brother, blood pounding in his ears like a drum. He doesn’t realize his hand is practically glued to Cas’s arm, who doesn’t seem to mind at all. And right before his eyes, Sam starts to change. Save for the small nightstand lamp, it’s dark in the room, but the changes are visible and swift.

Skin begins to thicken, lines disappearing. Hair becomes thicker, and slowly, so very slowly, the mass that Sam had lost seems to fill in, and the bed suddenly seems fuller. Carefully, Dean reaches forward and rests his hand on Sam’s chest, and can feel the sharp, healthy heartbeat thundering beneath his palm, and he loses it.

He gets to his knees by the bed and grabs hold of Sam’s arm, as the tears fall after months and months of pent-up emotions flow free. Cas is suddenly by his side, kneeling, helping him to his feet.

“Come, Dean. I’ve put Sam under a healing sleep. He’ll be out for at least a day.” Dean doesn’t want to leave his brother, not now, but he numbly follows Cas out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Cas guides him to the couch, then goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He brings it to Dean who stares at it strangely, shaking his head at the absurdness of the vision. An angel bringing him water from the kitchen faucet. But he greedily drinks, and nods his thanks before excusing himself to the bathroom to get his face cleaned up.

He looks into the mirror and sees an absolute mess but new tears come and he grins so wide it hurts. Finally he wets his face with cold water, dries off, and goes to find Cas.

The angel is not there when he comes out and his heart plummets to his feet, but a quick sweep sends him to their little balcony where he finds Cas in the cold. Dean’s only in a flannel and he’s freezing the minute he goes outside but he doesn’t seem to mind, not with Cas so near.

“This is a nice place, Dean,” Cas says. “But I think I prefered the Bunker. You seemed happy there.” Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He was happy there, once. But when Cas left, things felt different, empty. He shrugs. “We settled here because of the doctors. Supposed to be one of the best. Lot of good that did Sam.”

“There are some things that you just cannot fix,” Cas intones cryptically. Dean stares at his profile, a crease forming between his brows. “And some things you can,” he throws back. “Cas, I dunno how to thank you for Sam. I can’t ever repay you and I know there’s nothing I have that you’d want or need but if there is anything at all I could do for you, let me know, okay?”

The frown deepens and Cas turns his face away, pale fingers clenching on the railing. “I don’t need or want payment, Dean. Seeing you happy again is reward enough.”

The tone is careful and dull and Dean’s heart clenches with everything not said. “Fuck if this doesn’t sound like the girliest thing ever but you know damn well what will make me happy, Cas. You know what I want.”

Cas looks down, jaw working, before sighing tiredly. He finally stands up tall, turning to Dean. He looks him over then, like seeing him for the first time, before a furrow appears between his brows. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, Dean,” Cas admonishes. “Here,” and he moves to reach forward and Dean flinches back, hand out to stop him.

“Don’t. Don’t do that, I don’t need you to fix me, Cas. I look and feel like shit because I’ve been too busy and a fucking mess taking care of Sam for over a year.”

“Then let me heal you too, Dean.”

“No, Cas,” he practically growls. “I don’t want that.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m not the same person anymore, Cas! I’m not the same guy you remember. Look at me! Look how much time has passed. I’m not the same person you left years ago.” He is suddenly angry with himself, with Cas. He storms back into the house, goes to the kitchen and leans against the countertop.

He hears the soft click of the slider closing before Cas comes up behind him. “I apologize, Dean. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I understand the struggle you have endured.”

“He wanted me to kill him, Cas,” Dean chokes out. “But I couldn’t do it. He pleaded and cursed and begged me, and I couldn’t.” He turns around, his body nearly sagging from exhaustion. He looks at Cas and everything hurts, and he can’t believe now, after all this time, nothing has changed.

“I get it now, Cas. What you told me, before. When I begged you to kill me and you wouldn’t. I hated you for it at the time. You told me I didn’t understand, but I get it now.” He watches as Cas takes a step closer, his eyes open and calming. “When someone means that much to you, you can’t end them like that, no matter how much you know it’ll end their suffering. You never wanna give up on them, even though it may be hopeless.” His voice comes out strangled and he’s one step away from having a full-blown sobby breakdown, but the way Cas is looking at him…

“You were always stronger than me, Dean. You taught me to think for myself, to question everything. To never follow blindly. I have lived a hundred lifetimes since the last time I saw you, and I will never forget all you’ve done for me.”

“This sounds like another goodbye, Cas,” Dean grounds out, eyes boring into Cas’s blue ones. They are close enough to touch and Dean feels the loss keenly, like Cas has already evaporated before his eyes and all this is just another dream. Short, and sweet, and never meant to last.

He is taller than Cas, but has always felt very small in his presence, like no matter the vessel, Cas was a being that could never be contained in this mere form. He knows he’ll never be able to see his true form, in all his celestial glory, wings spread out for miles. He doesn’t belong in this...insignificant human figure. He belongs with his true family, where he can fly freely and live for all time without pain and sorrow and the misery of men.

Heart bleeding, he takes a step back, only to have his arm snatched in a vice-like grip. His breath catches as he gapes at Cas in question.

“Please do me the courtesy of letting _me_ decide what I want and what I need, and where I belong,” Cas levels at him, leaving him speechless and pulse racing. Cas’s hand is like a furnace around his wrist and all he wants to do is move forward and...he swallows thickly, trying to purge all thought from his mind.

“Thought you weren’t allowed to make decisions like that anymore,” Dean whispers, not budging from the spot, despite their current proximity to one another. Cas’s composure shatters for a second, but he steels himself quickly, tightening his grip. “It doesn’t change the fact that I want what I can’t have.”

Dean’s heart stops as he processes the words, shock resonating from his entire being. “Cas…” he breathes, instinctively reaching out without even thinking of what he is doing. This time it is the angel that flinches away, releasing his hold on Dean, leaving him strangely forsaken.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” and Dean doesn’t know what the fuck he’s apologizing for, nor does he care. All he knows is for the first time in a very long time, he knows what he wants and he knows Cas wants it too. And he’ll be damned if he lets this slip away again.

He crowds into Cas, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Don’t you dare, Cas. Don’t fight me on this, or reason yourself out of it. You just said it yourself and you can’t take it back, I won’t let you,” he growls, squeezing the angel’s shoulders roughly, watching the blue hues slowly disappear as large, black pupils fill his vision.

“Don’t you dare fucking leave me again.” He doesn’t allow himself to think, just leans forward, closing the distance. Cas’s perpetually weathered lips are searing hot to the touch, and his entire body feels suddenly scorched and alive. Cas is shocked into stillness and Dean needs to know this isn’t a mistake, that it wasn't wishful thinking all along. He softens his mouth, running his tongue alongside Cas’s lips, begging for entrance.

For an excruciatingly long moment, nothing happens and Dean is completely ready to die on the spot if need be. But then Cas’s entire body relaxes in his grip, and he parts his lips, and Dean nearly chokes on a sob. He removes his hands from his shoulders and brings them gingerly to Cas’s face, fingers cupping his jaw, roaming across cheekbones, and settling behind his ears.

Cas’s mouth is like liquid fire and while Cas has pretty much no experience in this, Dean finds he doesn’t mind or even notice, because the angel-- _his_ angel, is very much into this, making the most glorious little sounds in the back of his throat, even as his hands come to rest on Dean’s shoulders. Dean never wants this to end, but he needs to breathe at some point, even if Cas doesn’t.

When he can’t take it anymore he regretfully pulls away, breathless and extremely turned on. Now that the oxygen is back in his brain, his mind is screaming at him. _What have you done? What are you doing? This is Cas! A freaking angel! A man!_ The way his body is reacting seems to disregard the last one, though the thought should have him freaked out a bit. He blinks away the jarring, warring emotions, vowing to deal with them later. Right now he just wants to concentrate on Cas.

“Dean,” comes the shocked voice. Dean smiles, elated beyond anything he’s ever felt. “God, Cas. That was...holy shit, Cas.” Cas presses two of his fingers to his own lips, almost in awe, disbelieving of what just happened. Clarity returns quickly though, and he moves back, away from Dean.

His heart plummets. “Don’t, Cas,” he starts before the angel can get a word in. “You said it yourself, we’re connected, in more ways than one. I fucking have your grace inside me! Don’t tell me we can’t do this or we shouldn’t do this or any other bullshit you're trying to come up with right now. I know you felt what I felt.” He swallows. “Feel. I know you feel what I feel.”

Cas looks pained, head bowing slightly. “It’s forbidden, Dean.”

Dean has no idea what he’s talking about and as the endorphins clear from his head it finally hits him. “Why is it forbidden, Cas? What harm could come of it?”

Cas looks reproachfully at Dean, lips pursing. “Dean, in the history of Time, there have been precisely four instances of an angel being involved with a mortal. And they were all dealt with shortly after discovery.”

Dean doesn’t want to know what ‘dealt with’ means but he shakes his head like it doesn’t apply to them. “This is different. There’s no danger, or possibility of, you know, offspring, so it’s kind of a moot point,” he declares, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Cas doesn’t seem to feel the same way.

“Dean...that isn’t the point. It is expressly forbidden to get involved in any capacity with another human being. What we just did...that is enough to have me punished if it were ever to be discovered. This is an impossible dream, Dean.”

Dean deflates. He doesn’t want Cas punished, or reprimanded or even ostracized. Not for this. Something like this should be celebrated, praised. Not treated like the worst of sins. He clenches his jaw, bitterness coursing through him.

“Then why, Cas? Why’d you allow it to happen?”

“Because I am weak when it comes to you, Dean. It is no secret. And maybe I just wanted to feel what it was like, to feel the love and closeness that humans share. I am selfish, Dean, and I took what is forbidden. For that I will gladly accept whatever punishment they deem necessary. I do not regret what happened, because now I know, now I realize what it feels like...to be wanted.”

Dean’s vision blurs rapidly, his lashes wet and spidery. His eyes burn and he angrily wipes at them before the damning tears can fall. He wants to punch Cas. He wants to kiss him. He has never felt more frustrated in his entire life. He is cursed, it has to be it. God forbid Dean Winchester gets something he wants.

Cas doesn’t dare get closer. He knows Dean too well and for that Dean is grateful. He wouldn't be able to handle anything resembling comfort right now. He sniffs, scrubbing away the last of the wetness and crosses his arms. “So I guess this is goodbye then, Cas.”

Regret and sadness radiate from Cas and he hangs his head, looking so very human it sends a pang through Dean. “I’m so, so sorry, Dean. There are not enough words in English or Enochian to describe to you the depth of my regret. The pain I’ve caused you…”

“I don’t want to hear words, Cas.” He is suddenly so very tired. He could sleep for a week. “Will you not say bye to Sam when he wakes? I know he’d want to thank you and see you.”

“For now I must get back. If Sam needs to speak with me, I will try to come.”

Dean nods, fighting the tears again. “Thank you, Cas. For what you did. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

Cas nods, the corners of his mouth upturning slightly. “Please, allow me to do one more thing for you, Dean.”

How can he say no? He was never good at denying Cas anything. He inclines his head in question. After a beat Cas approaches, and before Dean can blink or do anything else, he feels a slight touch to his forehead, and he’s out like a light.

When he wakes up, it’s because Sam is standing over him, practically shaking him into consciousness. “Dean...Dean!”

“Wha-ah.” He groggily sits up, rubbing at his face, but Sam is relentless, sitting on the bed and refusing to let go of Dean’s shoulders. When Dean fully opens his eyes, he’s staring into the face he remembers from long ago. Free from pain, and turmoil and sickness.

“Sammy,” he croaks, then attacks him, pulling him in tightly. His eyes water again but he doesn’t care, he just grabs hold as Sam does the same and they sit there, silent and disbelieving.

Finally Sam pulls away and asks, “How?” Dean looks down and licks his lips, fearful of his brother’s reaction. Would he despise him for meddling once again? Changing the course of his fate? He finds he doesn’t care one bit. Not with Sam looking at him like that.

“I prayed, Sammy. I prayed to Cas to come and heal you.”

Sam is clearly shocked, though he had to have guessed, had to have known only something divine and miraculous could have saved his life. “So...what, I’m cured? No more cancer?”

Dean smiles, though it might be a grimace but he chokes out, “No more cancer, Sammy,” and his brother is still in awe, still in disbelief. There’s no reproach in his eyes when he looks at Dean. “You called Cas, for me,” he states, not really a question.

“I had to, Sammy. I had to try. I didn’t even know if he’d show up but he did and he saved you.”

Sam smiles crookedly. “Of course he came, Dean. You called him.”

Dean is pained all over again but tries to hide it. Now is not the time. He throws on a wide grin. “So how do you feel, Sam? Anything different?”

Sam sits up straight, inhaling with relief. “I can’t actually remember feeling this good, Dean. My head is clear, I’m not tired, at all. I feel like I can run to the ocean and back. I feel good, Dean.”

Dean smiles happily. “Well you look good, Sammy.”

Sam’s expression softens. “Thank you, Dean. Really. I know it must have cost you a lot to pray to Cas. And I hope, I hope it ended better than last time.” Dean briefly looks down, before plastering his perfected smile back on once more. “You know what, Sammy? None of that even matters. You're better, and that’s all I could ever ask for. Now come on, let’s get out of here, get a proper meal to eat for once.”

When Sam leaves to shower, Dean finally notices the date on his phone. He’s been asleep for nearly two days. Cas must’ve put him down and moved him to the bed, and he does feel fully rested, for once. That painful feeling in his chest returns the second he brings up Cas, and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna get through this all over again.

At lunch, Sam talks animatedly about anything and everything while Dean listens and smiles when the time calls for it. After an hour, when things have settled down, he leans back in his chair, eyes on his brother. “Sammy, I wanna go back to the Bunker. I kinda miss it, you know. It felt like home, at least to me.” He shrugs.

Sam looks surprised, then excited. “Hell yeah, Dean! I am so done with this place anyway. It’s time to go home.”

***

Aside from the dust, it’s exactly as they left it. Dean is hit with a harsh wave of nostalgia as he looks around. Too many memories. Too many heartaches. But he’s glad they’re back. He goes to his room, settles everything in. Sam volunteers to run out for groceries and Dean relaxes from the long drive.

When Sam returns, Dean cooks them dinner, something he hasn’t done in months. It feels good to be productive again, even if it is something as mundane as dinner.

“So I know it’s only been a few weeks and all, but now that I’m better, I really wanna get back out there Dean. Hunting. We’ve been out of commission so long and as much as I wanna stay here and relax, I kinda feel like I got a new lease on life and I wanna make the most of it.

Dean understands. He’s been idle way too long. But he just got his brother back and he doesn’t want to jump into that fire just yet. “Sure, Sammy. I’m game. Just, let’s wait a couple more weeks okay? I just want to stay here, get some reading in.”

“Mmhmm,” Sam grins behind his raised glass. “Is that code now for getting laid?”

Dean glares, but it lacks feeling. “Ha freaking ha. Easy for you to say. You’re like all brand new and gleaming. I look like an old man.” He’s only half joking. He’s been sleeping better but barely, and the dark circles under his eyes remain, persistent. Sam’s smile falters.

“Come on, Dean, you don’t really mean that. You could pick up any girl you wanted right now at any bar.”

Dean looks down at his plate, thinking of Cas’s face. He feels ill. “Sam, I’m actually not interested.”

Sam scoffs. “Since when? I haven’t seen you not interested since you were like thirteen.” Dean shifts in his chair, picking at his food with renewed interest.

“Is it because of Cas?”

Dean freezes and his eyes fly over to Sam’s. “What about Cas?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, Dean. Like I’m freaking blind? You had a meltdown when Cas left all those years before and now you see him again and it’s that same damn expression, no matter how hard you try to hide it. Not to mention Cas’s eyes get all dewy whenever he mentions you.”

Dean sits up straight. “Come again? When the fuck have you seen Cas?” Sam quirks his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say so much and Dean’s pulse speeds up. “Sam?”

His brother shifts in his chair, cheeks going pink. “Look, I meant to tell you but I was gonna wait until we were all settled here and--”

“Sam. When the fuck did you see Cas?”

Sam sighs. “It was just once. Like two weeks ago. He showed up in a dream to ask how I was, so I thanked him of course and we got to chatting and he seemed really sad to me, I mean, more despondent than usual, so I asked him what was wrong and he got that faraway look in his eyes--you know which one I mean--and as soon as he asked about you I knew. I mean, I always knew that he cared, but it just felt different. He told me he has to remain in Heaven and to look out for you. When I asked him if he wanted to pass on a message to you, he simply said, ‘Dean already knows what I would say to him’, and then the dream ended.”

Dean can’t breathe, like his whole chest is caving in. His chair screeches back and he stumbles out of the room, away from Sam and his concerned eyes, and locks himself in his room, the pressure behind his sternum building. He leans against the door, silently cursing.

He doesn’t really care that Sam knows. Dean’s forty two years old. He can do and think whatever he wants. He just feels betrayed that Cas would approach Sam in such a way, such an intimate way, to...glean information. It is so beneath Cas, Dean wonders when the angel had sunk so low. And to hear Sam talk like he knows what Dean means to Cas...is almost too much to bear.

After a few hours, a soft knock sounds on his door. Dean is leaning against his headboard, book in hand, eyes not seeing a word. He sighs. “Come in, Sammy.” He is tired of running and hiding, anyway.

Sam looks chagrined and guilty but takes a seat on the bed when Dean nods towards it. He runs a hand through his long hair and sighs about a hundred times before starting.

“Dean, look. I’m sorry I never told you about the dream before, and I’m sorry about what Cas did or didn’t say. I didn’t know,” he says softly, apologetically. Dean looks up at the ceiling, sighing heavily before closing his book.

“It doesn’t matter, Sammy. Cas is up there, and I’m down here. And that’s the way it’s gonna be. It’s just… it’s just bullshit, Sammy.” He licks his lips. “Did you know when Cas pulled me from Hell he had to give me some of his grace in order to get me out? I still have it you know. A part of Cas is with me always. Poetic isn’t it?” he spits bitterly, eyes glittering darkly. Sam looks despondent. Dean shakes his head, clearing away all the unhealthy thoughts congregating.

“Anyway, he came to help you, and that’s all I care about. It’s done.”

“Dean,” Sam starts and Dean loathes the note of pity he hears in that tone. “You won’t fight for him?”

Dean gawks at him, incredulous. “Are you serious, Sam? I’ve done nothing _but_ fight for him! I can hardly breathe when I think of him leaving. Again. And telling me he has no choice. That he has orders. Sam, we’ve been through this before with him. There’s nothing left to say. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I wish he had stayed a human,” Sam blurts and a small part of Dean agrees with him. But the bigger, more selfless part of him knows he was never meant for their puny world. “He’s an angel, Sammy. Not meant to be caged.”

They are both silent for a while. Then Sam gets up. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night Sam.”

***

When the first waves of summer hit, Dean works on his car. His Baby. It’s been forever since he’s tinkered with her, and it feels so damn good to have his hands all over her again. He loves losing himself in the mechanics of her engine, grease up and down his arms, sweat pouring down his face.

Sam spends his days researching new hunts. They’ve been on a couple since spring, Dean wanting to take it easy, and Sam strangely agreeing. Downtime is nice but he needs something to keep busy with or he’ll go nuts from inactivity.

He reaches under the hood of the Impala, groans a bit to reach the spot he’s looking to reach. He’s not as young and nimble as he used to be. Facing the car, music blaring from the speakers he doesn’t hear the sudden noise behind him, but he feels the slight breeze all the same. He stills his movements, eyes frozen to the inside of the raised hood.

“Dean.”

He shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw so tight it actually hurts. Then he gets the strength to turn around, hands shaking. Cas is there, in all his trenchcoat-clad glory, sun blaring brightly behind him.

“Cas? What are you doing here?”

“I was...allowed to come.” Dean narrows his eyes. “Why? And who sent you?”

Cas comes closer, arms inside the trench pockets. “I sent myself. Or rather, I convinced my Father to send me here.”

Dean gapes. “I don’t get it.”

Cas looks on fondly, eyes glittering with a mirth Dean hasn’t seen in a while. “When I pulled you from Perdition, you remain, to this day, the only mortal to have been given such a privilege. In truth, it was never certain the plan would work. And certainly not without help. I gave you my grace and in turn we got you. I have spoken with my Father--through Metatron-- and told him that I am constantly being pulled to you because of the grace and that the longer I remain away from your presence, the weaker I feel. So I have been given special privileges, and considering I helped stop the Apocalypse, God felt gracious enough to bestow upon me said privileges.”

Dean’s mouth is hanging open when Cas finishes speaking. “So you...lied? To God?”

Cas frowns. “I didn’t lie, Dean. I don’t need to lie. I _am_ constantly pulled towards you, no matter how far away I am. I may have embellished the part where I get weak however, if I don’t see you. I am actually quite well,” he states offhandedly.

Dean is at a loss. “So...are you...here to stay? Like for good?” His heart is slamming in his chest and he has to try not to get his hopes up. But Cas merely smiles. “I will need to return to Heaven every now and then, to check in, and to make sure there is no conflict. But essentially, I may come and go as needed.”

Dean is covered in grime and grease and sweat drips from his hair but he doesn’t give it thought as he attacks Cas, grabbing onto him for dear life. He pulls him in, the familiar warmth filling his core whenever Cas is close. “You better not be fucking with me right now, Cas,” he threatens with a growl. “You better mean it,” he pulls back and grips the angel’s shoulders, leaving smudges of grease behind. Cas doesn’t notice or care, he is all business as he calmly arrests Dean with his eyes. “I would never lie about this, Dean. I want to be here. With you and with Sam. I’m glad you’ve returned here, Dean. I really like this place. May I stay here with you?”

Dean stares disbelievingly. “Cas, you idiot, you have to _ask_?” He pulls Cas in, capturing his mouth, and it’s paradise. Perfection, like a balm, healing Dean from the inside out. Cas obliges happily, greedily, takes Dean apart with a desperation that nearly floors the taller man. It’s nearly too much and Dean needs to take a step back before his heart gives out.

Cas is beaming at him, literally, incandescent and glowing even brighter than the hazy sun, and for a minute Dean is dazed until he realizes Cas is inspecting him closely. He frowns, then his brows shoot up. “Cas!”

“I’m sorry, Dean, it just...happened.” Dean doesn’t have it in him to be pissed right now, just shakes his head, playfully punching Cas on his shoulder. He feels instantly refreshed, his eyes less strained, his body not so stiff. Whatever Cas just did to him, whether on purpose or by accident invigorated him and right now, he wants to use that energy towards Cas.

He grabs his hand, pulling him towards the Bunker’s entrance. “I am never letting you out of my sight, Cas. You’re gonna get fucking sick of me before long. You’re gonna be begging me to let you go home.” He is pulled to a halt and he looks over his shoulder at Cas in question.

“I am home, Dean.”

Dean swallows roughly. “Damn straight, Cas.” The angel reaches with his free hand, almost reverently, wipes his palm across Dean’s forehead, and the delicious sting of it, like being branded all over again is consuming, and it’s all Dean can do not to ravage him right then and there.

“Come on, Cas, let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” Cas obliges, following Dean inside, and towards his new life with the man he fought Hell and Heaven for.

_End._


End file.
